The Seventh Year Letters
by t65xwing
Summary: Lily, Alice and Sandy are going into their seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For the triple purposes of record-keeping, future nostalgia and comedy value, they are writing a series of letters to one another over the course of the year, to be opened at their ten year reunion.
1. We Begin

Disclaimer: I think it's fairly obvious that I am not the wonderful J.K. Rowling, and therefore the amazing Potterverse is not my brainchild. I am writing purely for entertainment (hopefully), and hope this fanfiction sacrifice on the altar of JKR's Awesomeness is an acceptable one. This story (and the character of Alexandria Woods-Rogers in particular) is of my own invention and is not part of Rowling's official storyline.

* * *

><p>Dear Lily,<p>

So, if you are reading this, (and since the only way you'd know what I'm writing is if you were, then I think it's safe to assume you are) then it's now ten years in the future. Well, my future. You're in the present. Which is, what, 1988? Wow. Scary thought.

In case you've forgotten, because ten years is a long time, this stack of letters (I hope it does become a stack, and not just something we start and forget about, like the time you tried to keep a diary, and the time I tried to log how much chocolate I eat, and the time Alice decided she would try to give up sarcasm) is from our seventh year. We've just (in my time, sitting in your room on the last day of the holidays before our seventh year starts) agreed to write each other a string of letters over the coming year, to not only keep a record of what happens, but to share even the few secrets we can't already tell each other, and hopefully for a bit of comedy and nostalgia when we read back over our angst-filled teen lives.

And obviously it was my idea. Not just because it's a good one, but because I'm the only one of us sentimental enough to think it up. Alice thinks it's a lot of tosh, but has let me bully her into it. And since it's me who is receiving her letters, I'm sure I'll pay for it in ten years time. But I'm not entirely sure how you feel about it. You've been pretty quiet lately - I'm hoping it's just because you're anticipating our last ever year at Hogwarts. And that shiny badge on your chest, you lucky girl (never doubted you). But you seemed keen enough, and you look pretty engrossed in your own first letter over there at your desk, so I'm hoping you're excited, too.

I want to tell you first of all (well, actually, not first, because I've actually written a bunch of other stuff before I got to this) that you owe me ten Galleons (adjust for inflation) if you are now married to and/or have children with James Potter. I've said it before, and I'm sure I'll say it again, but you two are actually bound to end up together. I just don't think someone can profess to hate someone for as long as you have without _actually_ being in love with them. If he just irritated you, you'd have grown out of it by now, and just not cared. But you do (and I've watched you grin to yourself when he does little things like mess up in Potions, even when no one else has noticed, so you obviously do) and so I reckon it's got to end up with you madly in love with him. Especially when he still hasn't given up, after four years of trying to impress you.

By the way, if we're in the same room reading these, can you please wink at me? I'll either remember this and laugh, knowing what you've just read, or I'll have forgotten and be humorously confused.

Anyway, I'm massively digressing (as per usual).

We're back off to Hogwarts tomorrow, for the last time. This year we'll be sitting our N.E.W.T.'s, and hopefully actually becoming employable witches afterwards. I still don't know what I want to be, and I'm not sure you do either, despite Slughorn's conviction that you should be a super amazing Potions master of doom (or work at the Ministry). Alice wants to be an Auror, and has told us both this every day since we found out what an Auror was in our third year Defence class. I hope she is one, and that you don't read this part sadly, knowing she's a bored housewife or been relegated to the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office or something.

As well as your amazing achievement of becoming Head Girl, we also have the lesser achievement of me taking your place as the Gryffindor seventh year girl prefect. Having not been a prefect before, I hope you keep me right. I'm very excited about the bathroom, and don't want to lose that privilege through my usual complete lack of common sense and general obliviousness to all things sensible. Also, we both get to ride in the prefects carriage, which has annoyed Alice no end. And since Frank has left now, she can't even fall back on her other best friend (I do hate that nothing happened there - I was really hoping they'd see how great they were for each other before he disappeared off to Auror training), so she's pretty mad. I'm trying to avoid bringing it up in front of her - I like my eyebrows the way they are.

Oh, and just for the record, I'm probably going to lose something at your house before we leave. I hope you don't still have whatever it is after ten years, but if you do, can you please send it back? I probably need it. Although after ten years, I've probably either learned to live a half-life without it, or I've bought/borrowed/illicitly acquired another one.

I really, really hope we manage to keep this going. I hope we're still friends when it comes to switching letters, and we don't decide that we're too grown up and embarrassed by the total rubbish we talked as teenagers to share them.

And I really, really hope you still find me funny, and that when you say 'idiot' or 'you really are incredibly annoying', you still say it with a bit of a smile.

I also hope I get better at writing these, and have more to say to you other than that you still owe me a Butterbeer, a new pair of socks and a replacement Spell-checking Quill. Which, if you haven't coughed up, you still owe me in 1988.

Lots of love and silliness,

Sandy

(or, in case we're weird and formal in ten years' time)

Alexandria Woods-Rogers

(actually, better cross out my surname in case I'm married or something crazy in ten years' time)

* * *

><p>Sandy,<p>

You are all kinds of crazy, you know that, right?

If we ever actually exchange these in the future, we're going to be mortified. I bet you're gushing more than some soppy Witches' Hour radio play heroine. I also bet I can't understand half the words Lily writes in hers. I certainly don't understand half of what she says. And I'm trying to be an Auror, so I'm not a total idiot, either - and I still don't understand her.

She's also a total bint if she thinks we don't know how chuffed she is to be Head Girl. She thinks she's all subtle and pretty, modest blushes. Bullshit. She wants to scream it from the rooftops and throw a party. But a party that finishes before curfew, and where there's no alcohol and no Marauders, so not really a party at all.

Speaking of Marauders, are you going to be able to cope with this prefect crap? Because everyone knows you can't form sentences anywhere near Lupin, and you two are going to be thrown together a lot now. I can just see your crazy word vomit now.

I bet Lily gets some interesting letters from you.

Ok, you actually look like a house-elf on drugs right now, writing away with your tongue sticking out and your eyes bulging with sheer concentration. I'm trying not to laugh.

I lied, I'm totally laughing.

So, you've just shouted at me that I need to make a prediction about you. Here goes: I bet you're going to be doing some crazy, enthusiastic job that works you all hours but you don't care. I bet you're either married to some schmuck who lets you shout all over him but takes charge when things get rough, or else you're single, because your intensity has scared all men away. I also bet that you still wear that stupid green cardigan that you think is so vintage, but actually makes you look like a Slytherin bag lady.

I just re-read this and realised I sound quite mean. But you wanted 'all the stuff we don't actually say to each other', and most of what I filter out is stuff I think you'd be offended by, you mad little pixie.

Ok, I feel ridiculous now. I'm going to wait and see whether either of you ever bring this up again, otherwise this will be my one and only attempt at making my best friend's future self into my pen friend.

Crazy, crazy shit.

Alice.

* * *

><p>Dear Alice,<p>

Your expression right now is absolutely hilarious. You keep throwing Sandy these glances, like you're waiting for her to explode in a puff of positivity and happiness and set off your allergies to optimism. You two make me laugh more than anything else, I swear.

It's a silly idea, this one of Sandy's, but it won't do any harm to try. It'll not only keep her happy, but who knows: maybe one day we will actually read these, and at the very least get a laugh at how young and silly we once were.

I'm going to take the opportunity to say 'I'm sorry' to you, Alice. I'm sorry Sandy and I are abandoning you on the train tomorrow. I wish you were a prefect, too; although, despite your excellent grades, we both know you're too anti-authority to cope with being a prefect. However it would mean the three of us sharing our last 1st of September ride on the Hogwarts Express.

I feel very sad about this year, Alice. I feel like we're losing something very important to us, and nothing is going to be the same again. I also don't feel nearly old enough or wise enough to deal with it. Look at the things we read about in the Daily Prophet: I'm not ready to face the tainted world outside the protection of Hogwarts. And not tainted by Muggleborns, either.

I'm not allowing this first letter to you to become immersed in dark thoughts, though. Let's be positive. We have a whole, fresh new year ahead of us: we'll all be turning eighteen, we have a Yule Ball this year, and I heard a rumour that James Potter lost all of his hair thanks to a curse gone wrong, or a Quidditch accident, or maybe both. This year could still be excellent.

Sandy is still writing, and you're looking at me in despair. Chin up, Alice. Let's have a good one.

Your friend,

Lily Evans.


	2. The Prefects' Carriage

Dear Future Sandy (assuming you don't give in to your lunatic curiosity and try and read this tonight in our dorm),

I promised myself that I was only writing that one stupid letter to shut you up. But I'm sitting on the Hogwarts Express by myself (well, with a couple of other Gryffindors from our year, but practically on my own) and I needed to do _something_ that didn't make me look like a friendless loser. It was this or start on _Advanced Potion Making_, and I haven't sunk quite that low.

Also, I heard something very exciting being gossiped about by said other Gryffindors. Something I'm sure you and Lily are finding out right now in the prefects' compartment. Almost makes me wish I was a massive loser (ie prefect) too just so I could see Lily's face, and share my amusement with you.

Potter got Head Boy.

I know! I can't believe it either. Dumbledore must have been jinxed. Either that or the eccentric genius thing has rotted into bat-shit craziness. Or maybe the Marauders have somehow pulled an absolutely phenomenal prank. Let's face it: not only is it going to result in complete mayhem, but Lily is going to be worse than a mountain troll with a hangover. Regardless of your 'secret love' theory, the boy pulls some pretty violent reactions out of darling Miss Evans.

Do you think me she might actually break, and use the Cruciatus Curse on him? Can you imagine if I was the Auror charged with tracking her down? Merlin, the Ministry are evil gits.

I'm totally bored.

Since I'm obviously completely and utterly out of my own mind with boredom, I'm sure it's legit to claim that the next thing I am going to write was not in sound mind, ok? But you asked us to write stuff that we hadn't told each other, and sitting here alone on the Hogwarts Express is leaving me too much time to think about it - and I certainly would never tell you in real life because you'd do that massive over-reaction with the squealing and the hand clapping and I can't deal.

You were right. Yes, I have obviously gone clinically insane. Take me to St Mungo's ASAP.

At the start of last year, Frank did actually ask me out. But I turned him down. Before you go getting all frustrated, it was the sensible thing to do: we are, well, we were, very close friends, and I didn't - I _don't_ - think of him like that. And I couldn't tell either you or Lily, because I knew how you'd react. Things were absolutely fine afterwards too - we were still friends, everything was easy and fine. So it was definitely the right call.

But this year it's not.

Wait, interrupting to tell you what just happened - this first year just came into the compartment, searching for the witch with the food trolley, looking pretty scared when he realised we were all seventh years. I told him to watch out, that this compartment was hexed, and anyone not a seventh year who entered would have their feet melted off. Kid just about peed his pants and scarpered pretty quick. Was really funny. Black just gave me a high five, so ultimate seal of approval right there.

Anyway, back to Frank.

So I met up with him at the start of the summer in London. He's there doing his Auror training, and obviously I was dying to get the insider info, and I was staying with my Muggle gran in Southwark so had to find something fun to do. And then he told me that he couldn't do this any more. He said that just being friends with me last year was really tough for him, and he didn't want to kill himself over me any more, especially when his Auror training was so intense - he didn't need the pointless distraction. He wished me best of luck for seventh year, and for my Auror application, but said not to write - that we'd probably bump into each other when our families visited each other at Christmas, but he needed til then to sort himself out.

God, I feel awful. I've never seen him look so serious - not since the day beside the lake when he told me he loved me. And I feel like I've lost a limb or something. I mean, other than you and Lily, he was my best friend. I've known him since I was five years old, and we've played Quidditch together since we were like eight - hence why we made the best pair of Beaters Gryffindor has seen in years. And he doesn't want to speak to me.

Merlin's beard, this train journey really does take forever.

Mary Macdonald and Marlene McKinnon are having a very intense discussion about the Yule Ball. I bet neither of them have a clue about the significance - that, if it's a Yule Ball year, then this would also have been a Triwizard year, had it not been discontinued in 1792 after that cockatrice injured all three Headmasters and mistresses. Funny that we carried on with the stupid dancing, but not the feats of bravery. And funny that two Gryffindors don't appreciate that.

I really, really hope they make Lily go with Potter. How hilarious would that be?

But then, dancing. Ew.

I wonder who Potter'll choose to replace Frank as Beater? I hope it's not a total loser. We really could do with winning the Quidditch Cup again this year. I would hate it if I had to admit to Frank we lost it straight after he left.

That is, if we ever speak again.

God, I can't bear sounding like such a pansy. I'm not writing any more of these stupid letters. Next time, it's _Advanced Potion Making_.

Alice

* * *

><p>Dear Alice,<p>

I will admit, I'm using this letter writing exercise to avoid meeting Sandy's wide-eyed gaze. I'm sure she thinks all her birthdays and Christmases have come at once.

I'm also avoiding having to make conversation with the person sitting next to me.

I'm sure you're reading this and smiling knowingly to yourself, remembering how much I ranted and raved at you about this very thing. But please be sympathetic, because I've only just found out, and in the worst possible way. Why on _earth_ did no one warn me? Surely, even if Dumbledore hasn't been breathing in too many potion fumes, he could have at least _warned_ me? Although I'm sure the chaos that will ensue from this goes far beyond my own personal intolerances.

He made Potter _Head_ _Boy_. _Potter_, Alice. And not only did he make Potter Head Boy, he made me Head Girl. The two people most likely to become physically violent towards each other in the entire of the seventh year - excepting maybe Black and Snape, or Black and Avery, or Black and Mulciber, or I suppose Black and anyone from Slytherin, really.

And not only did Dumbledore make Potter Head Boy, and me Head Girl, but he didn't see fit to give me any warning. Do you want to know how I found out? I've probably told you since writing this letter, but here it is, fresh off the page, before I've even left the prefects' compartment, for your amusement. Because I really, really hope we can look back on this and laugh, one day.

Sandy and I said goodbye to you on the platform, feeling a little guilty about how resigned you looked. I know you like to pretend that you're always full of misunderstood anger and never feel emotions like happiness or contentment, but I know when you're just being Alice and when you're actually unhappy. We've been friends for six years, after all. And you definitely looked unhappy. Even Sandy noticed, and you know how unobservant she is regarding other people's emotions.

Sandy and I made our way to the prefects' carriage, and into the first compartment where we hold the meeting, with poor Sandy absolutely terrified. I tried to be supportive, although I had your voice in my head telling me how amusing it was to see our chirpy, sandy-haired friend looking so blatantly petrified. Of course, she wasn't worried about meeting the prefects, or the duties she would have to take on, or even about making one of her amy clumsy mistakes and embarrassing herself. No, she was dreading having to speak to Remus Lupin.

Please, please let Sandy's painful crush on Lupin be just as funny in ten years' time as it is now. If it isn't, I genuinely believe that a light has gone out of the world.

The funniest thing is that, if Sandy could actually be herself around him, they might get on quite well. I've discovered how lovely Lupin is since we became prefects together and spent so much time patrolling as a pair: he's intelligent with a really dry sense of humour, he's thoughtful and kind, and obviously we can admit he's quite nice to look at with those sea-green eyes and dirty-blonde hair. Our genuine, enthusiastic, brainy but totally insensible friend would probably have great fun with him. However, she can't even stay in his presence for more than five minutes before finding an excuse to leave the vicinity, and she certainly can't speak anywhere in his hearing range.

So Sandy was having a pre-emptive panic attack, and I was trying to calm her down. We made it to the compartment, and, to her great relief, there was no sign of Lupin. A few prefects came up to congratulate me on the Headship, and Sandy went into mingle-mode and started making friends. All seemed well.

Then, Lupin showed up, with James bloody Potter in tow.

"Lupin, you know you can't bring your friends in here. We quite like the prefects' carriage intact, jinx-free and devoid of dungbombs," I said, feeling quite superior for all of five seconds.

I should have noticed that Lupin looked simultaneously uncomfortable and amused. Sandy definitely did, although that's not a huge surprise. What _was_ a huge surprise was what I saw glinting on Potter's chest when Lupin stepped through the sliding doorway and went to take a seat.

Potter didn't say a word, just smirked in the most irritatingly smug fashion possible when he saw my expression fall.

"Actually, I find I quite like it intact, too, Evans," he said, moving across the compartment to sit down next to me. I was too stupefied to think up a reason why he should sit anywhere else but right beside me - I know, Alice, I should have learned these things from you after six years, but I just couldn't believe it. It certainly crossed my mind a few times that it simply must be a joke, but thankfully I didn't embarrass myself further by voicing those thoughts.

Whilst we waited for the prefects to gather, he politely asked how my summer had been. We discussed the rising price of bats wings, the current standings in the Quidditch League, whether or not Black was planning on setting fire to the Slytherin table at the feast… anything except the fact that he was sitting beside me in the prefects' carriage with a shiny Head Boy badge on his robes. In fact, it was probably one of the least antagonistic conversations I've ever had with Potter, come to think of it. Every prefect that walked through the door did a double take as they clocked his badge, and more than a few whispers went around the compartment.

When it came time to start the meeting, my head was still all a-whirl, but I pulled myself together as best I could. I welcomed the new prefects and greeted the old ones, and discussed our duties. The sixth year prefects were to guide the new first years to their commons rooms after sorting, and the fifth years were to start corridor patrol that evening after curfew. We would patrol in house pairs again this year - Sandy looked physically sick when it occurred to her that she would be patrolling with Lupin - and the Head Boy and Girl would create a duties rota this afternoon to be issued alongside timetables tomorrow morning at breakfast.

Potter let me lead the meeting, slouching in his seat and spending more time looking around at the prefects than paying attention to what I was saying. But I didn't let myself get angry; I stayed professional.

Once the meeting was adjourned and the prefects began filing out to either go and find their friends,, or make themselves comfortable in the other compartments of the prefects' carriage I turned to Potter, reluctantly.

"We could do with writing up a duties rota before we get to Hogwarts," I said, " And if you have any questions, you can ask them now without worrying you look like an idiot."

I thought I was being gracious by offering to bring Potter up to speed - he's never been a prefect, after all. But he gave me a slightly bitter look, and sighed.

"I'm not a total incompetent you know, Evans. I was as surprised as you were to find out I got Head Boy, but Dumbledore obviously knows something we don't - so less of the patronising attitude would make this professional relationship a lot easier."

I was stunned. Absolutely stupefied. After all of the stupid stunts and cringeworthy comments and idiotic interactions, he called me 'patronising'?

"Well," I said, cooly, "For the sake of our 'professional relationship', can we clarify before we begin that you won't be one of the students on my hit list this year? Considering that I've spent the last two years deducting house points from my own house based on you and your friends' endless pathetic pranks."

"No, I think you're safe," he said in a low tone.

"Are you sure? Because you've never seemed to understand the word 'no' up til now," I retorted, starting to lose my composure.

"Um, Lily?"

I wasn't sure whether to bite Sandy's head off or get down on my knees and thank her for her interruption. Her expression dithered somewhere between giddy excitement and frozen wariness, and I just _knew_ I was going to get a barrage of questions and Sandy-esque gushing the moment we were alone.

"Yes, Sandy?" I replied, trying to calm myself down. That boy really knows how to get under my skin.

"Is it ok if I stay in here while you two work out your rota? I don't want to face all of Alice's pent up rage by myself…" she trailed off.

Whoops, I probably should have left out that bit. Remember she loves you, Alice, she just has no control of what comes out of her mouth.

"Of course," I said, recovering my equilibrium, and feeling very grateful for the support of our dippy blonde friend in my time of need, "We shan't be long, shall we, Potter?"

Potter inclined his head in the affirmative to Sandy. I'm sure he thought he looked very stately and gracious, but all I could think was that his head might get stuck in the compartment door on the way out.

"I might wait for you then, Prongs," said Lupin from the doorway with a bright smile. Potter brightened up considerably as his friend took his seat once again, but poor Sandy looked like she very much regretted her decision to wait for me. She was rather pale, but Lupin didn't seem to notice, flashing her a warm smile before pulling out a book on monitoring and tracking charms.

So, I'm sitting writing a letter to you whilst Potter writes out our rota, with regular comments from myself. He did ask me with that insufferable grin of his if I was writing in my diary, and how often his name appeared: I replied that it was my hit list, and that he appeared in it more than anyone else, even Severus Snape after that Incident of Which We Do Not Speak in our fifth year. He quickly stopped trying to be entertaining.

So, my question to you, Alice-of-the-future, is as follows: does this get any better? Or will I end my final year by graduating instead to Azkaban, for murder of one James Potter?

Yours in turmoil,

Lily Evans

* * *

><p>Dear Lily,<p>

I bet you've already guessed that I'm _not_ making notes on Flobberworms, as the textbook I'm hiding behind suggests. I just needed some sort of shield from the RABID SEXUAL TENSION that is currently making it rather hot in the prefects' carriage. Ooh er.

You're very possibly grimacing as you read this, in the future, but at least my squeeing has been divided and given a time lapse.

I also need something to hide behind so that a certain fair-haired _Sex God_ doesn't see how much I'm currently drooling. It probably looks like _I'm_ the one who's rabid. The fact I can't ever make coherent sentences around _the boy_ probably doesn't help. God, unable to speak, unusually pale (from nerves-based nausea) and drooling: I'm practically an Inferius. And I'm fairly sure that _he_ isn't attracted to dead bodies reanimated by Dark magic.

I can't actually concentrate enough to write. You and Potter are glaring daggers at each other (what happened to him fancying you? I will be pretty gutted if I'm wrong about him, especially after being wrong about Frank - I may have to admit to being as bad at reading people as you and Alice keep telling me I am), and neither of you will actually look at each other, or me, or _the boy_ sitting next to me. And I can't look at _him_ either, so we're a great big pile of awkward in here.

But I'm still squeeing over Potter's face when you realised he was Head Boy. He did look well chuffed. You looked shocked, and a bit sick, but I don't think he noticed that. I bet he was just so happy with the prospect of spending all that time patrolling with you this year… And your shared study in the Heads' tower with adjoining rooms! I can tell you haven't thought that far ahead yet, and I actually can't wait. I hope I'm there when you realise. You seemed quite pleased when you thought you might be sharing with Jeremy Burte from Hufflepuff - but Potter is well sexier. And you know it, even if you won't admit it.

But speaking of patrols… I think I may have to organise a transfer to Beauxbatons. I can't physically survive a year of twice weekly patrols with _him_. I'll suffocate from breathlessness. Or my eyes'll go so wide they burst, and I'll bleed to death. Or I'll be so stunned I'll fall down the trick step into a parallel world where I'm actually a Thestral. Actually, being invisible wouldn't be too bad right now.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. I'm trying not to start hyperventilating, because I think if _he_ noticed I'd end up in a full blown panic attack.

What happened to Gryffindors being brave and courageous and all that guff? I obviously should have been a Hufflepuff.

Oh dear Merlin. I'm now sitting on the toilet, trying to not burst into tears of stupidity. _He_ just asked if I fancied a game of Exploding Snap, and instead of being a normal human being who could say, yes, I'd love to play Exploding Snap, and then actually play Exploding Snap, I tried to speak, squeaked, then panicked and legged it to the ladies'. And since I've taken a while to calm myself down, _he_ probably thinks I have constipation. Or diarrhoea. Or… oh god, it's horrible whatever way.

I'm not sure whether you have pulled yourself away from Potter's eyes long enough to notice I've gone, but for future-you's reference, this is what happened to me once you finally realised I had gone.

Love from the toilet,

Sandy.


	3. Awkward Sexual Tension

Dear Lily,

I'm sitting in History of Magic right now, and Binns is droning on about some wizard Dumbledore defeated a million years ago. Sounds like a half-baked version of You-Know-Who if you ask me. Anyway, HoM seems to provide a pretty decent block of time where I can write to you about how annoying you are.

Shocked? I know. And that's coming from _me_.

Future Lily probably doesn't actually remember what Now Lily just did to me today in Charms. But it was really just the icing on the cake of irritatingness you've been baking all week.

And I've been SO nice to you! I haven't brought up Potter and your whole bunch of awkward once! (Well, more than once. Per day. Per class.) And yet today you actually totally betrayed me. Just threw our friendship to the wind for the sake of five minutes of laughing at me with Alice. Alice, whom I might have expected this of, to be honest. But not _you_!

Oh Godric, I'm getting all worked up. I'm trying to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, like Madam Pomfrey showed me last year, and I'm thinking about puppies, and coffee cake, and sparkly things.

Binns hasn't noticed my crisis (he didn't notice he'd died, how would he notice one student having a silent meltdown?), but Black has. He just elbowed Pettigrew, and the two of them are laughing noiselessly at me. You know, I can see why so many of the girls are gaga for Black, with his long dark hair, and his high cheekbones, and those grey eyes that make you feel a bit awkward when he aims them at you. But he really is a pretty mean person. He likes to show people up, as if it makes him look better. And that makes him much less pretty.

You know what? Judging people seems to calm me down. I feel much better. Wait - does that make me as bad as Black? No, because I'm only telling mature, twenty-seven year old Lily who won't ever repeat what I've said, and knows I'm more mature by now anyway (I hope, or else what actually is the point?). I don't go around laughing at poor pathetic girls who have panic attacks just thinking about the horrible things their so-called friends did to them in Charms.

Hang on, I think I've misjudged Black. He's actually just passed me a bag of sweets - said that some sugar might help me deal with my shock. I feel a bit guilty now for being mean about him. Maybe the whole run-away-from-home, I-have-so-much-family-angst, look-at-me-in-my-leather-jacket, I-ride-flying-motorcycles-regardless-of-Ministry-regulations, pranking-everyone-around-me, all-the-girls-love-me persona is actually a big fake.

Sorry, I'm back. And I don't feel guilty for calling Black mean anymore, because he is an O grade git with a face like a smacked Bowtruckle. I know what you're saying: Sandy, why on earth did you ever take a sweet from Sirius Black? Well, I didn't think, did I. And now I'm purple.

That's right, purple.

The entire class is in hysterics, I'm on the verge of either going ninja-storm on Black's ass or curling up into a ball and crying, and Binns is _still reading his bloody lecture_.

Why me? Honestly?

So, now you're feeling sorry for poor, purple Sandy (I hope this is a surprise to you, and that I'm not still purple in 1988. Because that would be majorly rubbish. I really don't suit purple - if I had to be a bright colour I think I'd suit baby blue, or soft pink, or pale green maybe…), I hope you feel horribly guilty about what happened in Charms. What happened in Charms that you keeping harping on about, Sandy, asks Future Lily with her modified Memory Charm that only has her forget things that are convenient for her to forget?

Well. As you well know, I'm not the brightest bulb in the box. I mean, other than Divination, which is a total joke and I only get good marks because Professor Archer has some weird obsessive love for me and thinks I poop glitter, I'm not very good at school: my Transfiguration always results in rabbit-frogs, my Charms backfire, I mix up my hexes and jinxes, I kill any kind of plant I touch, my very presence makes potions go rancid and I can't tell a werewolf from a Doxie. So, basically, without you and Alice, who are two of the very cleverest people I know, there's no way I wouldn't have been chucked out and had to resign myself to Squibhood by now. Why I let McGonagall convince me to take an N.E.W.T.'s is beyond the scope of my understanding (which actually isn't all that hard to achieve, but, oh well).

So, I was slightly relying on one of you two being my partner for Charms. Mainly because it is possibly actually my _worst_ of bad subjects, probably due to the all the focused thoughts that are required. But of course I arrived late to Charms, because some rotter (probably Black, if my earlier character review is anything to go by) hexed my bag and it split in the middle of the corridor (brand new bag too!) spilling all my notes, quills, parchment, books and, worst of all, half a box of tampons that YOU had asked me to bring down from the dorm for you. I quickly tried to snag my rolling inkwell that was heading determinedly for freedom, and then of course tripped on the strap of my bag to end up flat on my back with my school skirt around my waist, flashing my pink spotty knickers to the entire school. And WHO was the wonderfully kind person who stopped to help me pick up YOUR BOX OF TAMPONS, whose face I couldn't see for my displaced skirt until he gave me his hand to help me up and then presented to me said box of tampons?

I actually think some ratbag like Black or Potter has jinxed my entire year, you know that? So far I've managed to become even more spectacular a fail at life than ever before.

WHAT HAPPENED TO GROWING UP?

Anyway, he was very nice and said nothing about the knickers, and didn't even flinch at the tampons. He also cast some anti-jinx on my bag, upon which it decided it would actually carry my stuff for me pleasantly after all. He also helped me pick up all of my suff, including the notes that Alice doodled Slughorn all over being attacked with various different kinds of curses and labelled 'amusingly', and asked where I was going next.

I couldn't speak. I knew fine well I was going to Charms, but my mouth and brain disconnected the minute I looked up into those beautiful green eyes, and all I could manage was an odd squawk and a confused 'mnehh' noise.

He waited for an awkward moment to see if I could become an actual human being, then gave me a weird look and a half-hearted wave before walking off. It wasn't a weird look, like, 'Lord, Sandy is such a weird freak' kind of weird look, but like he was a bit hurt, and like he was a bit confused, but smushed together in one _weird_ look. Although I don't know why…

Oh, Godric. I never even said thank you. I was so busy being an EMOTIONALLY STUNTED LUNATIC that I didn't even thank him for helping me and not actually completely judging me. I think that's possibly the worst realisation to hit me all day. What you did in Charms was pretty bad, but me not thanking him? That is pretty awful.

I feel a bit sick.

No, _no_, I refuse to let myself get so worked up. I'm going to finish this letter, and somehow retain my dignity, despite being purple.

So I managed to get myself to Charms, a little late and followed by a wave of sniggers from the various students who'd had a good eyeful. Being last, Flitwick pointed to the last seat available.

I was momentarily stunned. Neither yourself nor Alice had kept me a seat, despite my _clear_ memory of asking you to. No, in fact, you had sat down together, looking very pleased with yourselves. The last remaining seat was right behind you both - very cleverly organised by you, I imagine, from the insufferably chuffed look on your face.

And who was sitting looking slightly confused and very displeased in the seat next to the vacant one designated for me?

Thanks, Lily. Oh, I understand what you were trying to do - forcing me to partner him, as if my crush weren't an actual physical disability. But he obviously thought I'd been trying to get rid of him in the corridor by pretending to not know where I was going (and not even thanking him! ARGH!), and now what would once have been embarrassing and awkward was now going to be pure torture.

I really, really hope the purple comes off. Because the only way patrolling with and sitting next to _Remus Lupin_ whilst he thinks I don't like him when I can't physically speak to him could be ANY WORSE was if I were also mysteriously dyed a different colour and unable to explain why due to said lack of brain to mouth control.

Sometimes, I really, really hate being me.

In better news, I really think Alice is coming round to my letter idea. She hasn't made a single sarcastic comment despite me rattling on about what I intended to write to you (that was before this crisis came up, and I think this will make for far more exciting future reading than whether or not Amos Diggory did or did not mean to flirt with you before Muggle Studies, because boys will always fancy you, but hopefully I will not always be unable to get to a classroom without ruining my own life) and purposefully didn't answer me when I asked if she'd written anything else. Which means YES.

I'm also really excited about our first Hogsmeade weekend. Apparently Honeydukes has released a brand new extra large size Liquorice Wand, and whilst chocolate normally wins in the battle for my affection, I think we have to give this new boy a chance.

Love

Someone else, anyone else, just not that total psycho Sandy Woods-Rogers

* * *

><p>Dear Sandy,<p>

Here's another secret that I don't discuss with you and Lily in our otherwise world-encompassing discussions: I actually really like the Marauders.

I know that's pretty much heresy in our group, what with Lily's hatred for Potter and your inability to function as a human around Lupin, but it's true. And the only time I really have to hang out with them is when Lily is off doing prefect things and you're off talking yourself round from your latest crisis.

Not that I think you have that many crises. But it would be weird hanging out with Black, with his dirty humour and propensity for humiliating people, and you, who is blithely unaware of double entendre, overly enthusiastic and tends to panic if too many people look at you in case you've left your skirt tucked into your knickers. Again. So I wait until you need some 'calming down time' before I go and badger them for a game of Exploding Snap and all the latest on their epic japes.

All was going quite well today - we had enough to moan about from our classes but not enough work to feel guilty about slacking off. Black had a brilliant story about this fifth year Slytherin who'd been trying to catch him off guard to impress Avery and Mulciber's gang - but Black spotted him, drew him off, and then before he had a chance to draw his wand, he had Black's fist in his face.

Potter might be the duelist of the gang, but Black is very good at good old-fashioned fisticuffs.

Potter was a bit quiet. Asked him what was up - whether being Head Boy had ruined his chances at one-upping Black in the pranks stakes. He just smiled, lazily. It's made me rather suspicious. But Black and Lupin had noticed it too, so I'm fairly sure they aren't up to anything.

Had a bit of a laugh with Lupin. I'm hoping that 1988 Sandy won't panic quite as much as 1977 Sandy when I tell you that we were slightly laughing at you.

I promise I was trying to help. I don't do that sort of crap very often, so I'm a little out of practice - hence the laughing at you. Poor Lupin was very confused by your refusal to say two words to him - I don't think he's really noticed before now, just thought you were shy, but your rather amusing antics before and during Charms certainly brought your weird silence to his attention.

"Is she really shy, or does she have a problem with me?" he asked me, looking quite sweetly confused, "Because I'm supposed to share patrol duties with her, as well as ending up her Charms partner, and it could be pretty unpleasant."

I laughed. I'm sorry. Well, I'm not, really, it was quite funny.

"What bollocks, Moony. Sandy doesn't have a problem with you. And she's hardly shy - she normally doesn't shut up, actually. So you should maybe consider yourself lucky. Just don't ask her any difficult questions - or, well, any questions you expect her to respond to, really, and you'll be fine."

Black then burst out laughing, and Pettigrew joined in loudly, although from his expression I'm not entirely sure he knew why.

"That's hilarious, Jeffries. I'm guessing that's why she had a panic attack in History of Magic, then?"

Ok, I am sorry that Black has sussed you out. He can be a bit of a bellend. And I did see you after HoM looking a bit… purple… so I'm assuming he's been on your case again even before this. So, sorry. But I did defend you.

"Shut up, Black. She's harmless. And she's gotten a lot better, you know. I think she grasped that I was being sarcastic with her the other day when I mentioned how much I loved Madam Puddifoot's as a date location."

He snorted.

"Watch out, Moony. You have a psycho stalker on your tail. An inept one, too," Black laughed. But Lupin didn't. He looked surprised, sure - I haven't seen his eyebrows go so high before. Then he looked thoughtful. But he didn't laugh.

He _is_ a nice guy.

"Well, she's hardly a stalker if she can't speak to me, is she?" Lupin pointed out, dryly. Admittedly, Black did then laugh enough for everyone.

"Anyway," Lupin tried to change the subject, "Have you heard from Frank?"

I'm only telling you this because I am genuinely a bit sorry that I spilt the beans to Black. Although anyone with a functioning set of eyes could have worked it out themselves.

I blushed.

"Oh, looks like there's a story, here," Black quickly climbed into my armchair, throwing an arm over my shoulder and squishing me. I tried to punch him on the arm, but we were too tightly packed, and he grinned smugly. "What on _earth_ has old Longbottom been up to?"

"Nothing," I said, a bit angrily, "And no, I haven't heard from him. We aren't… well, we're not speaking."

The boys all looked surprised.

"Why?" Lupin asked, incredulously.

"He told you, didn't he?"

Potter had been so quiet that I'd almost forgotten he was there. And considering how much he likes attention, that was seriously weird. I also didn't know what to say, so I shrugged, and blushed a bit more. He watched me contemplatively, then seemed to make a decision, looking away from me towards the fire.

"Poor guy. And girls call guys the heartbreakers."

And I didn't know what to say. But I can say one thing: holy shit. Sandy, I think you may have been right. I think he might, and I quote you back to your future self, "actually [bloody] love her".

This year could be very interesting.

Alice

* * *

><p>Dear Alice,<p>

It's rather odd, this new living arrangement. I've woken up during the night the last few nights, not sure where I am, and the lack of other human beings in the room has left me chilled. Most people at Hogwarts would willingly eat bubotuber pus for a room of their own, but here I am finding it very quiet and unsettling.

That, and sharing a study with one James Potter.

I never told you what he and I said to each other the night of our arrival. I tried to, the first morning back at breakfast, but you were so busy making as many sarcastic contributions to Sandy's excited effusions about being back at Hogwarts as you possibly could, and I didn't want to spoil your fun. I'm still not sure how she took you at face value when you told her we should embroider a cushion with our faces on it as a keepsake of our final year, but her childlike enthusiasm over you was quite endearing, especially when she offered to give you a bat and a Bludger.

I was rather upset after my altercation with Potter on the train, and I made absolutely no effort to speak to him at the Feast. I stayed out of the vicinity of any Marauder during our impromptu party in the Gryffindor common room, and even tried to stay late with you and Sandy in the hopes I might avoid the long, silent walk back to our new abode with Potter. But it got later, and Sandy wilted (she really is the ultimate morning person, isn't she? 'Only one eleven o'clock but two five-thirty's', isn't that what she says?), and even you wanted to try and get some sleep before your battle with the alarm clock in the morning. So I left.

But Potter left, too. Not in that slightly awkward way where you meet gazes and realise you'll have to walk quickly so as not to appear rude - no, he caught my arm at the portrait hole and, to borrow a phrase from Sandy, 'actually' asked if he could walk back with me.

What could I do but give a noncommittal shrug and hope for the best?

So we walked back to our new rooms, tentatively engaging in the same sort of small talk that we had managed quite well on the train. We talked class schedules, Quidditch tryouts, whether Jennifer Clearwater had been drinking Firewhiskey or whether she's usually that much of a flirt (for the record, I said no, but Potter said yes). It was… bearable. But the we arrived back at our rooms, and there was a very large pink elephant sitting in the corner that neither of us wanted to bring up.

The rooms are lovely. You and Sandy had fantastic reactions when you saw them - a big fireplace and comfy armchairs a la the Gryffindor common room, two large mahogany desks on either side of the room, facing in towards each other, and a large window with a window seat, bedecked in scarlet and gold cushions, nestled in between the matching staircases that led to our bedrooms.

However, it felt very oddly intimate to be sharing such lovely rooms with someone like James Potter.

I really dislike him, Alice. I've disliked him ever since he first called Sev 'Snivellus', and mocked him for being in Slytherin. I took great pleasure in turning him down that day in third year under the big beech tree, when he threw an arm around my shoulder and told me that I'd better dress up to go with him to Hogsmeade that weekend. He then took great pleasure in dedicating every stupid prank he pulled to me, making any possible innuendo that he could as loudly and publicly as possible, and asking me to go out with him in increasingly ludicrous and easier to refuse ways. By the time sixth year started, I'm not sure he even fancied me any more - I think it was just a joke that's run so long it's only funny by force of habit, but that giving up on it would leave a gap in his schedule.

I really dislike him, but he turned to me in our new, shared study, and asked me if I could just try to give him a chance.

No, you ridiculous witch. Not like that. He wanted us to be civil. He wanted us to be… "if not friends, then at least associates. We need to be able to work together this year, and I don't want to feel like I'm having to watch my back with you."

And that is part of what is so odd about this new living arrangement. He has desisted all attempts to embarrass me, he hasn't touched any of my belongings, and as far as I'm aware he hasn't hexed anyone or anything since we've been back. He's been unfailingly polite, and kept his distance as best he can. He hasn't even had the Marauders round - I assumed that this would end up their new bolt-hole, and that I'd be spending all my time in the common room with you trying to avoid them. But so far… nothing.

Don't laugh, but part of me feels very off-kilter. I disliked Potter - that was our relationship. It was very secure. But I don't know how to deal with polite, distant Potter, who will be sitting beside me in prefects' meetings trying to organise our duties, and is sleeping in the room next door to mine. Right now, he's sitting at the desk opposite mine, ostensibly making a start on the essay for McGonagall, and hasn't looked at me once.

I say ostensibly: there's no reason other than previous character study that suggests he isn't, in fact, writing the essay. And I haven't been looking at him enough to know whether he has, in fact, looked at me. Honestly.

I don't know if I can work like this. There's just such a strange atmosphere in here: it's oppressive.

No, Alice. We both know that Sandy is as mad as a box of Chocolate Frogs, and there is absolutely no "RABID SEXUAL TENSION" between myself and Potter. The sparks she thinks she sees are angry ones. But it is strange how, without the anger, I'm really not sure how I feel at all about James Potter.

I just hope he doesn't revert back to his old self at an inopportune moment. It would be typical if this were a final, spectacular prank on his side: Potter convincing the whole school he had reformed, only to release a Hungarian Horntail on the school during the Halloween feast.

Yours distractedly,

Lily Evans


	4. Quidditch Tryouts and Patrolling

Dear Alice,

I know what you're thinking. I've written more about James Potter than I have about anyone else so far in these letters to you. Well, there's a perfectly valid reason for that: I can't find anywhere to complain about him to you or Sandy without either he or one of his Marauders turning up. At least one of them is in every one of my classes, and neither my study nor the common room is safe. Black is currently seeing (or seeing _to_ might perhaps be a more accurate term, and rather vigorously if the noises are anything to go by) Amelia Johnson, who shares a dorm with you and Sandy, and Lupin seems to live in the library. Nowhere is exempt.

Why do I need to be so secretive in my completely justified disapproval of Potter, you ask? Because I _promised_ him I would try to be nice. And he _is_ being rather well-behaved around me, considering his record, so I feel a little guilty. But that doesn't mean I'm not bursting to rant about him.

Especially after today.

Tonight was our first night of patrolling, and we'd decided that it would be a practical idea to have our next prefects' meeting straight beforehand, so that we could ensure the new fifth year prefects were adjusting to their new roles and have a chance to discuss the meeting afterwards, the two of us. So, at seven-thirty our study was filled with a variety of students waiting for the meeting to commence.

One particular prefect, in a green-and-silver tie, whose name shall not be mentioned, waited with a sour expression and an inability to meet my eyes. I noticed how disgusted he looked by the gleaming badge on Potter's chest. But I didn't approach him: that part of our lives is over, now.

Instead of letting me lead the meeting, like the first meeting on the train, Potter jumped straight in. He welcomed the prefects, and told them that they could find us here in our rooms if they ever needed us (I do rather hope Severus doesn't take him up on that offer - I can't think of anything more uncomfortable). He reassured the couple of new fifth year prefects who were unsure of various details of the point docking system (I didn't know _he_ even knew about the point docking system, Al), and then opened the floor. I hate to say it, but he seemed completely confident and in control - I hadn't expected it at all.

The event on everyone's minds seemed to be the Yule Ball. The prefects have a large part in assisting with the organising of the Ball, and, in the absence of actual Triwizard Champions for the last few hundred years, the Head Boy and Girl traditionally open the Ball itself. Dumbledore will hold an organisation meeting in November, but the prefects were excited to begin discussions now - I could see Sandy practically squirming in excitement at the very thought of it. Can you imagine what she's going to be like when the Ball comes? Like some kind of overexcited puppy I should imagine.

Potter handled it well, encouraging ideas and discussion, but reminding everyone that these ideas would have to be brought before the Headmaster in November. All in all, the meeting appeared to go rather well, and the prefects seemed to be remarkably respectful towards Potter; considering how many of us have docked him and his fellow Marauders points over the last few years, it was surprising. Or, maybe, in light of his new attitude, not so surprising.

We wrapped everything up fairly sharply to allow Potter, Lupin, Sandy, the two sixth year Ravenclaws and myself to get to patrol. Each pair were to take three floors - Sandy and Lupin were headed down to the dungeons, whilst Potter and I were headed up to the eighth floor to work downwards. Poor Sandy cast me a look of not even fear but abject misery as she silently accompanied Lupin from our study.

Potter and I were equally silent on our way up to the eighth floor.

"So, is this how things are going to be?" he suddenly asked me, halfway up the second flight of stairs.

"What do you mean?" I asked, innocently, as I hopped over the trick step.

He raised an eyebrow, and gave me a look that spoke volumes.

"Alright," I broke, "I'm sorry. This is just… strange."

"What, patrolling with me?" he asked, with an undertone of ironic self-deprecation.

"No. Well, yes, but that's only part of it," I hesitated, unsure whether to try and clear the air. If it were you, or Sandy, or even Lupin I would share how I felt, but Potter… I guess I might be trying to be civil, but I just don't trust him.

He raised a hand, gesturing me to continue. I took a deep breath. A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step, after all.

"I find that, in trying to give you that chance you asked for, I feel very off-balance. I'm so used to being at odds with you, Potter, that trying to be civil feels very unnatural."

We walked in silence a moment longer, and I watched as Potter's hazel eyes went from darkly considering to glittering with amusement.

"Well, then. Maybe being civil isn't an option," he said with a half-smile. I looked at him with bemusement.

"Maybe we should just be friends. Then you can be at odds with me all you like."

I frowned, unsure. I'll admit it, I'm more comfortable coming up with witty retorts to his ridiculous comments than I am conversing with him like this. Could I translate our antagonistic ripostes into friendly banter that I felt more comfortable with?

"It's possible," I smiled, slowly, "Although you'll have to take to wearing a paper bag on your head. I can't possibly have people thinking I've gone mad - they need to respect their Head Girl."

For a moment, his eyes flashed, but then he seemed to catch my tone.

"Oh Evans, what's the point in having arm candy like me around if you don't flaunt it?" he gave me a dazzling grin, his very white, straight teeth suddenly painfully obvious.

"What's the point in having you around? I've been asking myself that for years."

And it's funny - it was very, very easy to throw insults at him with a smile instead of a scowl.

We then started talking again. Only, instead of making small talk about the price rise in the Leaky Cauldron, or the new coat of paint on the third floor corridor, we actually _talked_. We talked about our parents (mine, Muggles, and James' both retired aurors), our worries over the Headship, James' plans for the Quidditch team and the new players he chose at tryouts today, mine for the Charms Club, our favourite wizard sweets (mine, Chocolate Cauldrons, his, Droobles' Best Blowing Gum), and our favourite Muggle music (mine, Fleetwood Mac, his either Pink Floyd or the Sex Pistols).

I'll be honest, Alice, I was having a great time. I will even admit that I was starting to see what all the other girls (particularly Mary Macdonald, who just continually extols his virtues) mean. When he's really interested, those hazel eyes light up and almost look green, and his face seems all planes and angles that catch the light and cast shadows. And I noticed how he's grown, just an inch or two, but it's perceptible; and how his shoulders have definitely gotten broader, and seem to fill his robes in a different way.

We were just comparing out favourite Beatles hits, when we met a student. I was surprised - it's not very often we meet students on patrol, especially not outwith the Astronomy tower or the third floor broom closet - but Potter just laughed.

"Oi," he shouted, "Padfoot!"

The troublemaker turned round, and I recognised the leather jacket, long dark hair, and high cheekbones combination.

"Black," I groaned, "Seriously?"

"Always," he said with a half-smile, before turning to Potter, "Are you done? Fancy nipping to the kitchens with me? I haven't had a chance to get fags, and you know how hungry I get… and looks like Moony's going to be a while..."

I waited. I knew this would be awkward for Potter, but I would back him up. I wasn't even going to nag him to dock points, I decided, not the first time - just to send him back to Gryffindor tower.

"Alright, mate," said Potter with a laugh, turning to me with a brow raised, "Fancy shacking off the last fifteen minutes and coming for some treacle tart and a butterbeer?"

I went cold. Any slight lessening of my intense dislike towards James Potter was gone in an instant. It had taken him _less than one_ patrol before he revealed himself for the… _Marauder_ that he really is, Al.

"Actually, Potter," I said, cooly, "I would rather deduct five points from Gryffindor and see Black back to the common room."

Both boys froze. Black looked frustratedly disbelieving, but Potter looked totally bemused.

"I'm sorry. What?" he asked, running a hand through his ridiculous hair. He has to encourage it to look that dishevelled: it's beyond pretentious.

"You heard. Black? I'll fill the paperwork in tomorrow, and as we only have fifteen minutes left, we'll walk you back to Gryffindor tower."

I'll admit, I was pushing him. But that didn't excuse the reaction that followed.

They both burst into guffaws.

"Good one, Evans," breathed Potter in between laughs, his hand lifting to catch his stupid glasses before they fell off the end of his stupid nose.

"Yeah," Black sniggered, "Imagine you docking points off me, Prongs. Ridiculous. You don't send family back to the common room."

I glowered at him.

"I'm sure if you thought your brother would listen to a word you said, you'd do the same, Black."

Then Black's face twisted into a scowl.

"You dare, you prissy little -" Black stepped towards me threateningly.

"Calm down, Pads," Potter said, his arm wrapping around his friend's chest and hauling him backwards. My hand went to my wand, hidden in the pocket of my robes. "Let's just head back just now, yeah?"

The look in his eye said that they wouldn't go back for long. But by that point I was beyond caring. Black narrowed his eyes at me once more, and then stalked off, like an enraged panther.

"That wasn't necessary, Evans. You just made me look like an idiot."

I looked to Potter, and his eyes, looking brown now, were disappointed behind his thin-rimmed glasses.

"You looked like an idiot all by yourself. The first patrol, Potter? I can't believe Dumbledore was so stupid as to think you wouldn't just take advantage of that badge like you do every other good thing that's been handed to you on a plate."

"Every other good thing?" his voice was low, and so controlled that it seemed almost dangerous.

"Don't act naive. Life is just a breeze for James Potter. Great at Quidditch, top marks despite doing no work, a different girl on his arm every week, king of the pranksters yet still bloody Head Boy, spoilt rotten by his parents, and -" no, I should never have said it, but I didn't even think, so I did, "a Potter to boot: all daddy's money to play with, and a precious pure-blooded wizard too."

I never should have said it, Alice. I don't know what came over me. This was Potter, and he's an arrogant toerag, but he's no pureblood elitist. That isn't my problem with him. I know the troubles with the death eaters have been on my mind, but…

He walked up to me, slowly, carefully. But I could see the tightness in his jaw, and the way his nostrils flared. He looked like he might erupt with the slightest provocation. And then he spoke, his voice soft, and full of bitterness.

"I'm not the one who called you a Mudblood, Evans."

A set of dark eyes in a sallow face, framed by even darker hair, flashed before my eyes. I flinched.

He snorted in derision, and turned, leaving me there in the corridor, alone. I might have been a little red-eyed on my eventual return to the Head's study.

Potter was nowhere to be seen.

Yours ashamedly,

Lily Evans

* * *

><p>Dearest Darling Lils,<p>

I don't really know where to start. It's been a pretty good week I guess… other than Charms, where I can't either actually speak or pay any attention to what Flitwick witters on about (I'm so actually going to fail… thanks for this), or the entire Gryffindor common room making jokes about the colour of my knickers, or everyone else asking if I intended on changing colour again any time soon… Ok, so not a 'pretty good' week, but certainly not my actual worst ever, and at least it's almost over, right?

And tonight. Well.

I felt really, horrifically ill at the thought of patrolling with _him_. But now it's done, I don't really know what to think. Or what to feel. To be honest, I really just want to go to bed, but I came back to find a really overexcited Alice in my bed (I know, very out of character) waiting for me, yapping on about some party plans, and totally unaware of my shellshocked state.

I'm actually writing this sitting on the toilet (weird how that seems to keep happening) with the shower running. I told her I needed a shower, but I just needed five minutes alone. I need to think. And that's pretty out of character for _me_.

Don't tell me you've actually ended up in a fistfight tonight, or else I'll say there's been personality switches going on.

So, we left your study after the prefects' meeting, and headed down towards the dungeons. I'll be honest, if I wasn't so weirded out by being on patrol with _him_, I might have been a bit scared. You know, I heard Elise Pendleton tell Juliet Sanders that the Slytherin common room was down there somewhere… can you imagine meeting Mulciber's gang down there at eleven o'clock at night?

"I have to admit," he said to me after a long silence, his voice gentle and careful, "I'm a little surprised that we ended up with the dungeons. I'd have thought James would quite like catching Slytherins and docking points from them."

I wanted to say that _of course_ Lily wouldn't have let James patrol the dungeons - being out of bed warranted loss of points, or in some cases detentions, but not a Jelly Legs Jinx or a Levicorpus, which would undoubtedly be James' way of dealing with Slytherins. But, as you well know, I couldn't say that.

I shrugged.

We walked in silence for several minutes more, before he turned to me, grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop, facing him.

"Alexandria," _my name is 'Sandy', you can call me 'Sandy'_, "we are going to be patrolling together for the whole year. Surely we can talk to each other, right?"

I couldn't look up at his face - not if I wanted to be able to breathe. But the sight of his long fingers wrapped around my upper arm was so mesmerising that I couldn't tear my gaze away, anyway.

"I mean," he carried on, an undercurrent of enthusiasm in his soft tone, "Alice told me that you have a bit of a crush on me. But I promise I won't make things awkward, or tease you about it like James or Sirius would. I actually think we could be good friends: you're really funny, Alexandria, with all the catastrophes that seem to follow you around and I could easily help you out with Charms, I know you find it hard. What do you say?"

For once, I didn't know what I wanted to say, but found myself speaking something anyway.

"Yeah, Remus, that sounds like a really sensible idea."

Sensible? When have I ever been sensible? I just get ideas in my head and try to roll with them - I've never been sensible in my life. That's why I'm friends with _you_, Lils. But he didn't seem to realise this, and smiled, and started chatting about classes.

I had spoken to Remus Lupin. A full, complete, sentence that vaguely made contextual sense. Why wasn't I overjoyed?

Because the only reason I'd been able to was because I seemed to have been gutted.

Alice had told him? That was bad enough - you two are supposed to be my friends. You've kept this a secret for years - why betray me now? But then he said he wanted to be friends.

I can hear you now, telling me how silly I'm being - it's a _good_ thing he wants to be friends, Sandy, that's the first step in him getting to know you. But you don't understand. Part of harbouring a crush is the _hope_ - the hope that, if you ever manage to get your shit together enough, you might say something witty, or intriguing, and your crush might start to think of you differently. But he found out, and I _didn't_ have my shit together, and turns out he wasn't secretly in love with me and just too afraid to tell me. Not that I ever thought he was, but you always hope, don't you?

And what's worse, even than that? Is that he knows all those things about me. That I'm a magnet for disaster, and always fall for Black's stupid pranks. That I'm rubbish in school. And that it's _funny_. I know that all those things are true, but I'm also enthusiastic, and ready to drop everything for my friends, and surprisingly good at Exploding Snap, has a ridiculous number of slang words and sayings that makes everyone laugh, and despite being gullible and oblivious to a lot of things, I'm very good at listening to what people aren't saying. But none of that was important. None of that made a difference. I'm just that girl that breaks everything she touches, and has panic attacks when everyone starts laughing, but that manages to laugh at herself afterwards so no one realises.

I can't actually be friends with him, Lily. But I can put on a great big Sandy-smile and be nice, and have a polite excuse for why I don't need help with Charms (even if I do).

It's weird. I'm not even having a panic attack. I just feel… empty.

Next week will be a better week. The dates go out for Hogsmeade, and then sounds like Alice is planning some sort of a party… It'll all be ok.

Sandy

* * *

><p>Dear Future Sandy,<p>

I'm so angry right now, I'm physically shaking. Hence the handwriting. But if I don't write another stupid shitty letter then I might accidentally blow up the common room in rage.

I'm just back from Quidditch tryouts. Now, you may not remember as far back as our good old school days, Sands, especially as you have a brain like a goldfish and can't remember things that happened five minutes ago let alone ten years in the past, but I am usually at my happiest having returned from the Quidditch pitch. It normally gives me a bit of stress release, or, as you say, lets me 'release the inner bitch in corporeal form'. However today was just so… urgh.

To start with, Potter was in a bit of a vile mood. He's always tough on the pitch, whether tryouts, training, games, whatever, and pushes us hard without any acceptance for failure, but when he's in a bad mood he stops noticing the things we get right and just sees the shit. It makes it really hard to remember we're supposed to like him.

On top of that, the quality of tryouts was god-awful. We needed a Keeper and a Beater to replace Shacklebolt and Frank who both left last year, but Potter warned me when we arrived at the pitch that he may ask me to try for Keeper, depending on what sort of talent he found. That was bad enough (I'm a Beater! Always have been!) but then David McKinnon, the Seeker, and Marlene in our year's fourth year brother, made this stupid comment about me being quite happy 'whatever position as long as I had balls flying at my face'…

Yes, I know. I should have risen above it. I'm a seventh year now, for crying out loud. But I did.

I hit the little fucker in the face with my bat.

Obviously, Potter benched me so hard I saw stars. McKinnon got taken to the hospital wing: Black told me he's fine, and nobody has ratted me out to McGonagall, although McKinnon is pretty pissed at me, and so is Potter. But Potter's hands are tied, because the tryouts for Beater were crap, so he can't drop me from the team without facing losing the Cup. But because I got benched, I then had no say in who was joining our team.

In case you've forgotten, we have Potter, Black and Gideon Prewett from fifth year Chasing, and McKinnon Seeking, plus me Beating. Potter took on Fabian Prewett, Gideon's third year brother, to Keep - apparently he's not bad, practices a lot with Gideon so has had to get pretty nifty as a Keeper.

But who did we get as my companion Beater? Martin Scott. Whilst he is a relatively attractive specimen, and is reasonably brawny, he is also a complete idiot. He is the complete stereotype of a Beater, and doesn't seem to know the difference between right and left, despite being a sixth year, and therefore it being reasonable to assume that he did in fact pass five years worth of school, although it beats me how.

I miss Frank. I mean, he was quite good, and we flew really well together. Scott is going to be crap, and need completely breaking in.

I've just been to have a look and see if I can find you or Lily, but Black tells me you're all patrolling tonight. Potter totally worked it so that he and Lupin were patrolling the same nights, so that we could maybe find time to all hang out in between studying and Quidditch and prefects' stuff. Shame Lily isn't quicker to use her status to make life easier/more fun.

Like, for example, having a party in the Heads' dorm.

I gave that as an example, but I really, really like it as an idea. We could invite all the Gryffindor seventh years - thirty people would be a bit of a squeeze but we'd manage. Maybe invite that Ravenclaw prefect that's into Lily - the good-looking one, what's his name? Would be quite fun.

And if Lily says no, I'll get Black to ask Potter. The Marauders have been very, very quiet this year… this could be their belated welcome back prank. And Black could smuggle us in some mead, and maybe even some Firewhisky.

Yours deceptively,

Alice


End file.
